Binding Wounds
by Scholar's Callous
Summary: After "The Paradise Syndrome," McCoy approaches a grieving Kirk and guilt-ridden Spock.  May not make sense if you don't remember the episode.


McCoy cracked his knuckles and gently entered the captain's chambers. The room was dark and a little on the cool side. Kirk lay across his bed, eyes on the ceiling. "If this is about skipping dinner, I'm just not hungry, Bones," he said dully.

"It's like an ice cave in here," McCoy remarked. "Computer, raise temperature to 68 degrees Fahrenheit. You trying to catch pneumonia?"

"If I did, I'm sure you'd find out." The ceiling remained bravely in place, despite the intense stare he subjected it to. "Are you done?"

Jim Kirk-ese for 'go away,' McCoy thought. In the depressed dialect, of course. "No."

Kirk glared. If the paint were sentient, it would have started flaking off in sheer terror. "I'd appreciate some time to myself."

"Not everything is about you, Jim. Actually, I'm here on business. I need to talk to you about Spock."

"Spock?" Jim sat up and looked at him. "What's wrong with Spock?"

"Nothing's wrong yet."

Kirk's eyebrows rose. "Yet?"

The bait was received. McCoy exhaled. "It took us two months to get back to you, if you remember…?"

He nodded, eyes warning McCoy not to mention Miramee. "Yes, I saw Spock's log."

"I'm guessing Spock didn't report his physical condition."

"No. Bones," Kirk said tightly, "what is going on?"

"Spock's exhausted. He spent the whole trip in front of his vidscreen –barely any food, and no sleep."

"For two _months?_ Why didn't you stop him?" Kirk demanded.

"I tried. I ordered him to sickbay; I even threatened to have security guards put him to bed. Guilt-ridden Vulcans don't listen to reason, Jim."

"So that's what hypos are for. Your job is to see to the health of this crew, _doctor_, with or without our cooperation."

That stung, but McCoy tried for lightheartedness. "I'll remind you of that when it's time for your next physical." Kirk's lip didn't so much as twitch. McCoy sighed. "The thing is, Jim, yes, I can intervene when someone's health is in danger, but there are _rules_ I'm suppose to follow. I can't just jam a sedative into someone's neck."

"You do that to me all the time!" Kirk protested.

"You reach your limit all the time," McCoy retorted. "I get to hypo people only after their grace period's over, and each species is different. Vulcans can ignore themselves for a long time before it's dangerous."

"Not fair," Kirk muttered. "And he's only half-Vulcan, couldn't you have tried something…?"

"I did. But-" McCoy paused and stared at the wall for a time. "I was –angry. Because we'd left you. When I first told him to get some rest, I wasn't as …gentle as I should have been, considering his state of mind. Spock felt guilty about you, and I made things worse. After I talked to him he felt like he had to work _more_, to atone. I apologized later, of course, but that didn't help."

Kirk frowned. Spock obviously wasn't the only person onboard feeling guilty. "Alright, Bones. You did the best you could at the time. We both know Spock never lets go of a problem, especially not when someone's in danger."

Especially not when _you're_ in danger, McCoy thought.

Standing, the captain continued. "But now that I'm back, he should be getting back to normal."

Bones shook his head. "He's running a full-load, Jim. In some ways, I think he still hasn't forgiven himself. He won't take time to recover. I can order him to, but…"

Kirk nodded. "It'll be more effective coming from me. And maybe I can address the guilt as well." Closing his eyes, he slowly stretched to the ceiling and let out a sigh. "Thanks, Bones. I'll get him to wind down, somehow."

Not wanting to startle someone into dropping corrosive acid, McCoy entered the science labs cautiously. Spock sat hunched over a beaker, adding minute drops of something pink into his mixture. "If you have come to inquire after my health, I assure you that I am quite well."

McCoy started. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Your reflection is visible in the glass. Also, had you been regular science personnel, you would have proceeded directly to your duties. I therefore deduced-"

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry I asked." He leaned forward to get a better look at the lab table. "What'cha cooking there, Spock?"

"I am not 'cooking' anything, Doctor. It is a delicate experiment, and I would prefer to remain free of distractions," he said pointedly. "As I said, I am operating within acceptable parameters."

"You make yourself sound like a computer program" McCoy grumbled. Spock turned back to work and ignore him. "Actually," he said, taking the plunge, "I wanted to talk to you about Jim."

"Indeed?" Immediately Spock removed his beaker from the heat, set down his pipette and faced the doctor.

"It could wait…" McCoy offered, watching the liquid cool from its rolling boil. While unfamiliar with the substance Spock was testing, McCoy recognized the procedure as one taking several days to set up, requiring exact timing.

Spock didn't give his work a second look. "What is the state of captain?"

Utterly brokenhearted seemed like a good descriptor, but the phrase might alarm Spock. He compromised. "Jim hasn't talked about it with me, but Miramee's death hit him pretty hard. Depressed, off his feed, not sleeping… Not socializing either. You two haven't even played chess since he got back, have you?"

Spock's face was unreadable. "No. Has his lack of self-care reached dangerous levels?"

"I've got a close eye on him. The thing is, I can give him sedatives and make him take time off and stand over him while he eats, but that won't take his mind off things."

"You wish to enlist my help in …distracting the captain?"

"If you can get him to relax, Spock, it'd be the best thing for him."

"I am not well versed in the psychology of grieving humans."

"You don't need to be. Just get him out of his quarters, get him talking. You're his friend; that will be enough."

"Very well. I shall do what I can, Doctor."

McCoy had the great satisfaction of watching the two of them walk down the hall together, each subtly eyeing the other with concern.

Mission accomplished.


End file.
